


Thou shalt not

by resonatingkitty



Series: A Lunatic Fringe and Suplex City [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resonatingkitty/pseuds/resonatingkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe breaking the 11th commandment wasn't such a bad thing after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thou shalt not

**Author's Note:**

> I had no intentions of writing a Brock/Dean fic. Ever. 
> 
> But at 5am this morning it just hit me. This is just a one shot thing. Don't plan on making it a thing but with Fastlane around the corner who knows what's going to happen. 
> 
> Based on urging from tumblr user stilinskiimnotahero.

_Post Raw February 1, 2016_

__

Dean was walking back to his and Roman’s shared locker room or rather limping back. He landed wrong coming down out of the F-5, nothing serious as it would be fine in the morning after a good nights rest but that still didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt now. Roman, the ever over caring sap that he was, had gone to the trainers to get ice for him so he could ice it once they got changed and went back to their hotel.

He was nearly at their room. One more corner to make and a sharp right after it would put him there. He made and corner and nearly ran into Brock Lesnar, who appeared to just be standing there. Waiting.

Dean recoils, eyes narrowing at the Beast. He tenses, ready for a fight if Brock chose to give one. He knew he couldn’t win, not with the shape he was in, but he’d be damned if we going down without a fight.

Brock doesn’t move to attack him though, just stands there, arms crossed staring at him with a smirk on his face.

“The fuck do you want Lesnar?” The cameras are off. Dean had figured that the Beast and his advocate - or whatever the fuck he was - Paul would be long gone by now. That’s normally what happens. They take off as soon as the cameras quit rolling. 

“Wanted to see for myself how you handled my F-5,” Brock replies and yeah he sounds amused. Doesn’t even hide the fact as his eyes move up and down Dean’s body, “You handled it better than most people.”

“Yeah well if that’s all you got in terms of Suplex City then I’m afraid it’s a bit lackluster because I hardly felt a thing,” He should not be snarky right now. He should not be standing here talking big to Brock fucking Lesnar. But he’d heard the amusement in Brock’s voice and well that just don’t sit well with him.

“Oh trust me, that was only a taste of what all Suplex City has to offer,” Brock chuckles, pushing himself off the wall where he’d been lent up against, “You’ll be getting the full tour at Fastlane.” He takes a step forward, right into Dean’s personal space.

“Oh really?” Dean asks, lifting his head defiantly. He grins but it’s a more of a show of teeth than an actual grin, his way of showing that he’s got some bite. “I look forward to it. Better make it interesting though. I don’t normally like tours.”

The next thing he knows, he’s being shoved roughly in his and Roman’s locker room with Brock right behind him. The door is shut, lock clicked into place. Dean has a second maybe two to gather his bearings before he’s slammed into the wall. His breath leaves him but he still struggles to get free from the grip that Brock has on him. It’s useless though. Brock’s stronger than him and he’s hurting. The Beast has him.

“Come on motherfucker,” Dean’s still not going to go down without a fight. He bares his teeth at Brock, “ fucking come on!”

He excepted to be punched in the mouth or thrown across the room into the opposite wall. He wasn’t expecting his lips to be covered by Brock’s own. The kiss is violent, brutal, nothing gentle about it. Dean is momentarily caught off guard but then a switch is flipped and he’s kissing back hungrily. If asked later why, he wouldn’t be able to say and he would deny it to his grave. Pain and pleasure had always walked hand in hand when it came to him. Having either was a thrill but having them both together was simply euphoric.

That’s why when one of Brock’s hands twist in his hair, giving it a good violent tug, Dean’s mouth falls open and a loud moan tries to escape, only muffled by Brock’s lips still on his. Brock pulls back, smirking triumphantly like he’s just won the fucking title or something. He keeps one hand tangled in Dean’s dirty blond mop, occasionally pulling to create that delicious sting that makes Dean hiss out a breath of air. His other hand falls down to Dean’s pants. Even one handed, Brock makes quick work of his belt, pulling the thing out of the loops and tossing it across the room.

The hand in his hair then moves down to help make quick work of his jeans and boxers, pushing them down until they’re in a pool at his ankles.

Brock actually fucking grins when he sees that Dean is hard. Dean doesn’t care at this point. It does occur to him that he probably should since this is Brock Lesnar he’s dealing with. But that thought is pushed to the back of his mind, especially when one of those large hands wraps itself around his cock, squeezing and stroking. The noise that leaves his lips is somewhere between a gasp and moan.

“Look at you,” Brock laughs, actually laughs, “Such a little pain slut aren’t you? I’d always heard that was Seth’s thing but I guess it’s your too huh?” He’s talking, voice dropped low. His eyes are shining with glee. Bastard is enjoying this.

“F-Fuck you,” Dean attempts to growl but it comes out breathless.

“Oh believe me Mr. Ambrose, if I had the time.” Brock places the forearm of the hand that’s not jacking Dean fast and rough right under his chin and applies pressure. Dean’s moan is choked, his hands grabbing feebly at the arm. “If I didn’t have to be somewhere in the morning. I’d gladly fuck that ass of yours,” he twists his hand, “provided Roman doesn’t mind of course.”

“F…..uc….k” Dean’s gasping. The pleasure coursing through his brain is making it hard to make a snappy comeback. That devil of a hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it fast and rough is making it hard to think. That forearm pressing solid against his windpipe, pressing in to cut off his circulation and then easing off so he can draw in little breaths is making it hard to think.

And soon it’s Dean’s undoing. A swipe across the tip of his cock, a squeeze, and a hand tangling back in his hair to give it a sharp pull is what tips Dean over. He comes straight onto Brock’s hand and the floor, groaning. Brock step back away from him and he slumps back against the wall, thankful because it’s his only support.

“See you at Fastlane Mr. Ambrose,” it’s smug and Dean’s only reaction is lifting his hand up and giving him the middle finger.

Brock laughs, unlocking the door and leaving Dean to try and get his bearings back before Roman returns.


End file.
